


she will carry the city inside of her

by defcontwo



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), The Dark Knight Legacy (Web Series)
Genre: Background Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 12:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defcontwo/pseuds/defcontwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Red Hood is tearing Gotham City apart, a new mask has emerged from the shadows and GCPD's Stephanie Brown is trying to do the best she can with an awful situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	she will carry the city inside of her

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redbrunja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redbrunja/gifts).



> Dear Redbrunja: Ah, this beast. It got away from me a bit and the plot became a bit ambitious but I really hope you like it! Stephanie Brown is, as always, excellent in every way and I hope I did right by her. 
> 
> Have an excellent holiday season and enjoy the fic! :) 
> 
> Dear Yuletide Readers: if you haven't yet, [watch this](http://youtu.be/kmLXTFWgX2s). Other than that, this fic draws liberally from Stephanie Brown's backstory as revealed in the Robin comics and elsewhere, with hints of "Red Hood: Lost Days" thrown in. They are not super necessary for enjoyment of this fic but are there more for a bit of a fun clue-in for those who like Easter Eggs and canon references.
> 
> Misc Notes: In the video, it appears from the uniform as if Stephanie Brown is a patrol officer but I've made her a recently promoted detective here because hand waves, fanfiction magic. 
> 
> And a huge thank you to Gil for beta-ing. You're the best. ♥

Happy families are all alike. 

At least she thinks that's how it goes. She barely scraped through senior year, working part time at a run-down diner with a few babysitting gigs on the side to make a few extra bucks. The finer details of AP Lit were a little lost on her. 

But it's irrelevant, she guesses. 

This is Gotham; there are no happy families. 

\--- 

This is her earliest memory: 

Her mother, eyes wide and voice frantic, shoving her into a closet to hide while her father invited all of his crime buddies over to plan their next big deal. She remembers peering through the crack in the barely open closet door at a group of men gathered around her kitchen table, all of them making their little run-down house appear that much smaller. She remembers her mother standing just inside the door frame, arms wrapped around herself, skin pale, a look on her face like she wished she couldn't be further from right where she was standing. 

She didn't know, then, what it meant that they were all armed. That they all carried guns that couldn't be legally bought in stores. She didn't know what it meant when they tossed out phrases like "acceptable casualties" and "bank heist." 

She was four. She was just a girl, in a closet, wondering when it would be time for her to come out, wondering when it would be time for her to get tucked into bed with a story and her favorite second-hand teddy bear. 

She didn't know, then. But boy, did she learn. 

\--- 

"So, tell me the truth. What's with the guy you ran into at the crime scene? Some kind of new mask?" 

Stephanie starts, a cup of rapidly cooling coffee in one hand and a manila folder stuffed full of paperwork in the other, and she's about as tired as she possibly could be of hearing that question but this is the first time all night that she's actually wanted to give an honest answer. 

She holds out the folder. "Check it out for yourself, Montoya." 

Renee accepts the folder, flipping it open, eyes scanning the contents briefly, but she snaps the folder shut about as quick as Stephanie expected. "All right, now that I've read the official bullshit. What _really_ happened, Brown?" 

Something in Stephanie eases, as she leans back against the wall, letting one foot kick up against the wall. If she can trust anyone in this place, it's Renee Montoya. "You know, you're wasted in narcotics, Montoya. " 

Renee snorts. "And don't I know it. But I'm pretty sure one woman per unit is the maximum, right? Two lady cops in homicide, all of Gotham might erupt into riots. Now stop stalling, Brown." 

Stephanie drains the now-cold coffee, the styrofoam cup brittle beneath her fingertips as she crushes it and tosses it into the nearest trash can. Her fingers tremble, a little, and she doesn't know if it's from the caffeine or all the blood she's seen tonight. The caffeine, probably. 

She's seen more than her share of blood; if it still bothered her, she'd leave the whole goddamn city. 

"New mask. Didn't get a name. He said he was a friend. Not Batman, though. He was smaller than Batman. Maybe about 5'9"? Lean build. Dark hair. I'd say late twenties, early thirties, but you never know." 

"You think he had anything to do with the perp who punched the mob bosses' tickets?" 

It's the logical explanation, sure. It's what everyone in the precinct's been saying but something about it niggles at her, like it's too easy an explanation. The GCPD is full to the brim of easy explanations; she's learned not to trust them. 

"Honestly? No. There was just something about him…" 

"Oh, here we go. Look, you and the Big Bad Bat got a history, Brown, but don't let that cloud your judgement." 

Stephanie scowls. That'll teach her to spill her guts to Montoya over tequila shots. "I was _ten years old_ , Montoya, shut up. I've got no use for masks. Not now. I'm just saying, I think he was a friendly. I don't have to agree with his methods to come to that conclusion." 

Renee tugs a hand through her dark, curly hair, a wrinkle forming between her furrowed brow, a habit that Renee probably doesn't even know she has whenever she has an idea forming and Stephanie smiles in spite of herself. "You think he could be what, a disciple? Batman's little brother or something?"

"I….I don't know," Stephanie says, lifting a shoulder in a weak, half-shrug because the truth is. Well, the truth sounds a little insane, even inside her own mind. She's not sure if she's ready to say it out loud just yet. 

Because the hell of it is, the man in the mask reminds her a whole lot of someone she knows. 

"Well, if anyone can crack this one, it's you, Brown. You're the mask expert," Renee says, a smirk lurking around the edges of her mouth and Stephanie rolls her eyes, reaching out a hand to punch Renee in the arm. 

"Fuck you, Montoya," Stephanie says, already moving to head down the hallway to file the paperwork. "And fuck the Batman too." 

\---

The truth is, she loved Batman, years ago, when she was ten years old and he was the hero who came for her father and his whole goddamn gang. She loved him when he was her beacon of hope, when he came into her home and took the man who made her mother cry away. 

She sat on the roof of their house every night after that, waiting to catch a glimpse of Batman. She filled notebooks with sketches and plans and costume designs because she thought if Batman could do it, she could do it too. She thought he must get lonely, fighting alone like he did. She thought that maybe he could use a partner. She thought that maybe that partner could be her. 

Then her father broke out of prison and moved back into the house and his bullshit and his hypocrisy and his cowardice invaded every corner of her life. 

For almost every day for a year, she marched up to her father, hands balled into fists at her side and said: "Just wait. Just wait for Batman. He'll come for you again." 

But he never did. 

She stopped loving him, then. Whatever else came after, she'd never forgive Batman for that. 

The thing is, you can't waste time waiting for a hero in a mask to come and save you. Sometimes, you have to save yourself. 

\--- 

A city councilman's been double dealing on the side with the Falcone family. It's nothing new nor is it news; everyone and their mother knew it, even if there wasn't a paper trail to lead them to it or enough actual willpower to care about proving it. 

But now they don't have to. 

He was found dead an hour ago, body cooling in his office. A great big, red sign plastered above him. 

**I AM BATMAN**. 

Stephanie is the first on the scene. Something in her gut tells her to keep her partner out of there, so she sends him down the hall to start asking questions all along the floor of the building while she picks her way carefully through the office, mindful of evidence. 

"Son of a bitch," she breathes out, taking in the way the councilman fell. Gunshot wound to the stomach. It happened during lunch hours, when barely anyone was around to hear it. 

It must have taken him forever to bleed out. 

"A little less showy than the last one," a voice says from behind her. Stephanie stiffens. 

"You gonna tell me your name or should I call you Mini Batman?" 

A huff of a laugh. He stands level with her. "You can call me Nightwing." 

Stephanie looks and then looks harder. " _Can I_." 

Nightwing crouches next to the corpse, digging out an evidence bag from a pouch on his belt. She stands there, watching him as he takes samples and circles the body even though it goes against her every instinct to do so because with every movement, he reveals himself a little more and he probably doesn't even realize it. 

"How long you been doing this?" Stephanie tosses out. 

Nightwing shrugs, a small, economical movement that gives him away more than anything. Her heart is beating too fast and she's flushed all over and she doesn't know if it's from anger or what because she cannot believe this. 

"A while." 

Stephanie snorts. "Yeah, okay." 

Nightwing straightens before making for the window, pushing it up to lift himself out. 

"Hey, Nightwing!" Stephanie calls out. He turns to face her, a confused tilt to his mouth. "Meet me tomorrow at the park where I kicked your ass at flag football." 

She has but a second to revel in his satisfactory jolt of surprise and then he's let go of the windowsill and he's gone. 

Stephanie crosses her arms across her chest, taking in the whole room. Her partner will wander in sooner or later but until then, she's got at least a few more minutes to try and work the scene herself. 

"Just you and me, councilman." 

\---

Before she met Renee, Stephanie had all of two friends in her life. 

The first one, she only knew for all of a day. He was a young boy, about her age, and they met at a community day camp that her mother shuffled her off to. They were supposed to be participating in team building games but they spent the whole day off in a corner, him with his camera and her with her sketchbook, talking about Batman and Gotham and places they wanted to go and see. His parents traveled a lot, he said, and they never took him with them but he hoped one day they would. 

The day ended and her mother picked her up and it wasn't until she was halfway home that she realized she'd been so excited that she'd forgotten to ask for his last name or his number or anything that could allow them to keep in touch. 

She found it out a couple of months later, from the top headline of the Gotham Daily: Drake Family Found Dead in Haiti. 

She cried and cried for days, sat curled up into a ball in the corner of her bedroom and cried some more and it was stupid because she only knew him for a day, that wasn't much, that wasn't anything. He wasn't important to her, not really, except he was or at least -- it felt like he could have been. Like he should have been. 

And the second one -- the second one was John Blake. 

\--- 

She meets him at a bench in a run-down, barely taken care of park near the Narrows just across from the harbor. He's dressed casually, in jeans and a Gotham Knights t-shirt, but she can tell from a distance that his entire posture is stiff. He probably got there early and cased the entire perimeter. He's probably assuming that she sold him out; that there's cops there waiting for him. 

He should know. He used to be a cop. 

What a fucking mess. 

Stephanie strides towards the bench, plopping herself down next to him on the bench with a thunk. "Okay, do you want to explain to me what the hell you're doing?"

John runs a hand over his hair, fingers shaking slightly-- it's longer now that he isn't a cop anymore, and she can tell from the gesture that he was still expecting the closely-cropped cut favored by police. "How did you know?" 

Stephanie snorts before she can stop herself. "Are you kidding me? I've known you since we were in the academy, John. I'm a cop. You think a domino mask up close is going to fool me?" 

His shoulders slump, a little, and Stephanie gives into her desire to roll her eyes. He always was a little bit on the overdramatic side. 

Stephanie rolls her shoulders back a little, forces herself to relax. She tells herself that this is a friend. That sometimes she spends too much time around people that she has to keep her guard up around that she forgets who she can let in. 

"Do you remember your first case?" John asks. "You were working on that drug cartel takedown, right? And the lead cop was dirty, tried to get you in on it." 

Stephanie folds her arm across her chest and lets out a little " _humph_." No, that's not a case that she'd forget easily. 

"Yeah, he read my file. Figured 'cause my dad was a crook, I was too. Or at least I'd shut up easy with a couple of bucks." 

"So you punched him out and then reported him to IA." 

"I know, John, I was there. I did the punching. It was very satisfying and punch-y. What's your point?" 

" _Steph_ ," John starts before stopping. He blows out a breath, gaze straight ahead, fixed out onto the harbor. "This city -- it's too much, you know? It's too much for any one solution. There are good cops, yeah, but there are bad cops and worse politicians and maybe sometimes -- sometimes there needs to be someone who stands outside it." 

"Like Batman." 

"Like Batman," John says, nodding. "Or, well. Like me, I guess, since Batman is gone. He, uh, he gave me his blessing. To carry on his legacy. That's all I'm trying to do, here, Steph. Do the best for Gotham in the best way I know how right now." 

"What, was he your Yoda or something?" 

John shakes his head, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Not exactly. But he was something, all right." 

"Nightwing's kind of a silly name, you know," Stephanie points out. 

"Yeah, because the Spoiler was the height of heroic wit," John says and now he's full-blown smirking at her, the little shit. 

"I was _ten years old_ ," Stephanie cries out, throwing her hands up in the air. "I'm never spilling any of my secrets again." 

John gives her a look before nudging her in the shoulder and whatever tension there was, it's broken now. That was probably his plan all along and she played right into it. Way to go, Brown. 

"You're on the Red Hood case. I'm on the Red Hood case. I think we should work together." 

That was the elephant in the corner, here, wasn't it. 

It's a good deal for him. He gets a liaison within the GCPD that he knows he can trust and he doesn't have to answer to anyone in the process. But for her, it's her career riding on the line by letting a mask walk free, let alone cooperating with him. 

It's a terrible idea, probably. Definitely. 

But it's her old friend, John, and it's a bigger mess than Gotham has seen in a while and she's got no one in homicide she can trust to have her back with this, not the way she already knows she can trust John. 

Even if she does think his vigilante name is completely lame. 

"You know, Gordon used to work with Batman…" John starts and Stephanie groans because Gordon is -- Gordon is an inspiration, he's the best cop she's ever known, and that'd be a dirty card to play on her if she hadn't already made up her mind. 

Stephanie holds out a hand and John takes it. "You've got yourself a partner, _Nightwing_." 

\--- 

The next few weeks are -- bloody. Hellish. Marked by trails that end nowhere and bodies that they're barely able to ID. 

The Red Hood makes their presence known here, there, everywhere. Corrupt cops get strung out by their entrails. Politicians with their hands in the back pockets of drug cartels have their offices blown up. 

And the worst part is -- the worst part is knowing that she never could have done this. She never could have taken down those cops or stuck it to those politicians, not without a good, trustworthy team behind her. Not without a solid judge behind her, giving her entire good, trustworthy team a wire tap and a whole lot of leeway. 

She hates it, a little, a lot. Because the Red Hood is tearing everything down that she's always wanted to tear down and they're doing it with C4 and a trail of blood and it is infuriating. 

It's infuriating because she's tried. She's done nothing but slog through the mess that's Gotham for her entire career. She made a name for herself as a whistle blower, made enemies when she refused to compromise, and there's a Gotham-wide gag running that Stephanie Brown has IA and Commissioner Gordon on speed dial. 

She's been called a narc, called a bitch, called everything under the sun for cutting a swath through all the mess and trying to do things -- well, if not always by the book, at least by trying to do them right. 

She's done the best she could in a shitty, awful situation, fighting uphill every single day and the Red Hood comes in and takes all of those principles that she's held herself up to, all of that stubborn, back-biting hard work and blown it to smithereens and she is _furious_. 

She wants to believe that it doesn't have to be this way. She wants to believe that there's a better way because if there isn't -- if there isn't, then that's all there's ever going to be of Gotham City. 

If Gotham can only be saved through blood and a body count, then there's no room for hope and she has to believe, right down to her bones, that there's hope for Gotham City. 

Or else what's the fucking point?

\--- 

She and John meet on park benches, in corner booths in empty diners, in parking lots and in museums. They never stay for longer than ten or twenty minutes, never long enough to linger in anyone's memory, to attract attention. 

They swap info. They swap theories. Stephanie notes the bags set deep under John's eyes, how pale his skin is in a way that means entirely too much time spent in the dark and not nearly enough sleep. The more the Red Hood sinks their teeth into Gotham, the more John will convince himself that it's his fault. 

Batman left him Gotham and he is failing her more and more with each passing day and it's written into every tense line of his body. The calling card the Red Hood leaves behind every time, the message written in blood, in red spray paint, in crayon -- "I am Batman" -- only serves to dig the knife a little deeper between his ribs, only serves to twist it even more.

John Blake still believes in Batman, believes in the man and the symbol and the legacy right down to his very bones and it's going to kill him one day, Stephanie knows. If it's not this case, it will be another, but sooner or later, the mantle that John has taken upon himself will tear him to shreds. 

"There's no pattern," John grits out, for the tenth time that week. "Maybe if we knew who he was, we could figure it out. But we've got nothing. He wears a giant fucking helmet, he leaves no prints. _Nothing_." 

"Maybe that's the point," Stephanie says. "The lack of a pattern is, in and of itself, a pattern. We know the Red Hood won't do the same thing twice, that's something, right? So at least you won't waste resources trying to track back." 

"That still means we have no idea what's going to happen _next_ ," John snaps and Stephanie shakes her head because they're both exhausted; he doesn't get to take the award home for frustrated here. 

"No, we don't. And yeah, we're over our heads here, John. But cut the drama, all right? You want to take it out on me, find yourself a new liaison with the GCPD because I don't have the time or the patience for it. Not now, not with everything that's happening here." 

John blows out a breath. "You're right, I'm sorry. Look, do you want to meet again later tonight, maybe run through it some more?" 

Stephanie shakes her head. "No can do, buck-o, I've got plans. I'm giving myself the night off before I start looking as shitty as you." 

"Hot date?" John asks, a weak smile crossing his face and Stephanie warms, a little, lets her anger drain away. He's trying. 

"Something like that, yeah." 

\--- 

"Okay, for the record, I'm not doing any tequila shots tonight." 

Renee laughs, even as she motions to the bartender for two beers. "That's a lie and you know it, Brown." 

Stephanie drags a hand through her hair, tying it back into a messy ponytail before collapsing her head forward onto the bar. "I'm _exhausted_."

"Yeah, you look it," Renee says, and Stephanie lifts up a hand to flip her off without raising her head. 

"Whatever, asshole, you spent your day chasing down teenagers selling drugs on street corners, no wonder your skin looks so dewy and soft," Stephanie mumbles into her arm and Renee laughs loud enough that it echoes in the still mostly-empty pub. 

"Come on, Brown, first round of drinks are on me and my dewy, soft skin," Renee says, nudging Stephanie with her arm and Stephanie groans but pulls her head up, dragging the cold, perspiring pint of beer towards herself. 

"Cheers," Stephanie says, lifting the pint up to clink it against Renee's. "How is it going down in narcotics, anyways?" 

Renee shrugs, taking a deep pull from her own pint. "Same old, same old. We're still going after that one cartel, nothing's really coming of it. I'm about this close to tearing out McNulty's eyeballs or something, he's pissing me off so much." 

Stephanie snorts. "And I thought I was a human disaster." 

"You are," Renee says, all sing-song. Stephanie knows she doesn't mean it but she punches Renee lightly in the shoulder anyway, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "But they've just transferred Sawyer into my unit and she's good police, y'know? So it could be worse." 

"Tell me about it," Stephanie grumbles to herself. "I'm surrounded by stubborn assholes on all sides." 

"Yeah, how's it going with that one? You any closer to ID-ing the Hood?" 

Stephanie shrugs. "Nope." 

"Yeah…" Renee says, tapping a finger against her chin. "It's a weird one, yeah? They could be anybody beneath that helmet."

Stephanie frowns. "What do you mean?" 

"I mean, sure, masked fucker with a body count like this, I'm inclined to think high strung white boy with an axe to grind but. Maybe that's the point, right? To make you think otherwise." 

Stephanie straightens, back rigid. She feels all too aware of herself, like her every nerve is sparking off. _What if_. 

"Montoya, you're a genius." 

"Look, I'm not saying I'm right. I'm just saying, it's a thought." 

"No, no, no. It's a good thought, it's a -- I cannot believe I never thought of it like that. You know how it is, when you focus in on something too closely for too long, you don't see any of the outside possibilities anymore. Look, I have to go. I'm sorry, raincheck, all right? There's some digging I want to do tonight. Maybe look into your theory some?" 

Renee nods, shaking her head ruefully. "Yeah, yeah. Abandon me, you workaholic. Get outta here." 

Stephanie stuffs her arms into her jacket, winding her scarf around her neck half-heartedly before tossing a ten dollar bill on the bar. "Your next round's on me, Montoya. Seriously, I'm so sorry, I've got to go." 

\--- 

Stephanie's dialing the contact number that John gave her as soon as she bursts through the front door of her ramshackle apartment, tossing her scarf and jacket to the floor and pacing quickly towards where her computer is sitting on her kitchen table, tucking the phone between ear and shoulder as she presses the start button to boot it up. 

"Pick up, pick up, pick up…" Stephanie mutters before breathing out a sigh of relief at the click and John's disoriented hello at the other end. "Look, what if we've been looking at this the wrong way. We've been looking for a guy who might have been connected with Batman, right? What with the voice and all. But voices can be altered, modulated. With the helmet, it could be anybody. Widen the search. Check out anyone who's ever been affiliated with Batman, someone who might have an axe to grind, who might have a problem with cops and politicians who break the law, I think I might be onto something here…" 

"Unfortunately," a voice says from behind her, "you most definitely are." 

Stephanie barely has time to whirl around before she's cracked across the head and then she's falling into darkness. 

\--- 

Stephanie comes to, blinking awake against bright, blinding light, her legs and arms tied to a chair. "Ah, fuck." 

If Nightwing comes to rescue her now, she might have to throw up from how much of an awful cliche that is. "Way to go, Brown. Constant vigilance, that's you. Didn't check out your apartment at all before bursting in, who does that?"

"Apparently, you do, Stephanie Brown. Don't worry, I don't hold it against you. I still think you're quite the impressive police officer," a voice says. A woman's voice says, even. Part of Stephanie crows internally. She was _right_. 

"Who are you? If you think talking at me from the shadows is going to intimidate me, you've got another thing coming." 

Heavy boot heels thump in her direction as a woman, out of sight and out of focus, walks towards and Stephanie has to blink against the bright light but the closer the woman gets, the more distinct she becomes until she's standing right in front of Stephanie and she's -- 

"Holy shit." 

"Well, that's one way to put it," Rachel Dawes says, crouching down to speak to Stephanie at eye level. "Hello, Stephanie. I know that these are less than ideal circumstances but I thought it time we had a bit of a talk." 

"What, you couldn't call first?" Stephanie tosses out. It's false bravado, she knows, papering over the fear with a veneer of bluster and bravery because she's holding onto a thin shred right now. Her fingers grip the arms of the chair tight enough to whiten. She is talking to a _dead woman_. 

"How," Stephanie breathes out. 

She remembers Rachel Dawes. She remembers the bright, pretty young lawyer from the local news coverage of Gotham's biggest trials. How she always stood a step to the left of Harvey Dent but never, ever behind him. She remembers the sharp, crisp suits and the quirky smile. She remembers thinking that Rachel Dawes seemed kind, good, exactly like the kind of person you'd want doing the job she was doing. 

She remembers the day Rachel Dawes died just as well as anyone else. All of Gotham went to shit that day; Stephanie spent it locked in her bedroom, eyes fixed on the TV coverage of the Joker's antics. 

Rachel Dawes should be burned to a crisp and yet here she is, standing before Stephanie, flesh and blood and very much alive. 

"Have you ever heard of the League of Shadows, Detective Brown?" 

Stephanie shakes her head. 

"No, I didn't think so. Neither had I until their leader pulled me from the wreckage, dead and gone, and made me whole and well again. She saved me, Detective Brown. She brought me into the light again and she taught me how to be strong in a whole new way. She was a remarkable woman, the Demon's Daughter. I owe everything to her," Rachel says. 

Stephanie swallows thickly. "Sounds like you were in love with her." 

Rachel tilts her head to the side, a small smile crossing her face that makes Stephanie's blood run cold. There's a burning in her eyes, a green tinged around the irises of her eyes, something bright and terrible and close and Stephanie is as afraid to look away as she is to keep staring into it. 

"I am. But nonetheless, we had a few fundamental ideological differences when it came to dealing with Gotham. Lover's spat turned philosophical, you know how it is." 

"No, I don't know. Why don't you tell me about it?" Stephanie asks. She's stalling for time and it's such an obvious tactic, Rachel is bound to know it and by the smirk that tugs at the corner of her lips, Stephanie's guessing that she does. 

"She wanted to burn Gotham to the ground. I wanted to save it. See, that's why I like you, Brown. You believe this city can be saved. I always did too, you know? No case too ugly, no crook too nasty." 

"And now look at you," Stephanie spits out. There's anger there still, the anger that's been building for weeks, and for a moment, it's stronger than anything else, it's greater than the fear. 

"Death changes things," Rachel says, shrugging. "Puts things into perspective. But that's not the point here, Brown. I brought you here tonight to tell you that I'm getting out of dodge for a while. I need to, ah, refocus, shall we say." 

"You really expect me to believe that?" 

"You can believe it or you can't. I'm leaving Gotham. I'll be back but there are things that I must do, matters to be attended to. The League of Shadows has gotten unruly in my absence."

"You're trying to scare me." 

Rachel arches an eyebrow. "Is it working?" 

Stephanie stares straight ahead, a mulish glint in her eyes. She won't give the Red Hood the satisfaction. 

Rachel grabs Stephanie by the hair, jerking her head back sharply. "You can give me the tough girl cop routine all you want, Brown. I know how this is going to go. I'm going to leave and you're going to spend every day that I'm gone looking over your shoulder, wondering when I'll be coming for you next. And I will be coming for you. You've got promise, Brown. I'm not so sure that you can't be persuaded to my side of the fence." 

"Not likely." 

Rachel eases up, shrugs. "Guess we'll find out." 

The butt of a gun comes up, making for the back of Stephanie's head and then she's falling into darkness once more. 

\--- 

When she comes to, her restraints have been untied and sunlight is peering down at her through high windows. She stretches her aching muscles tentatively before lurching to her feet. She digs a hand through her pockets and finds her phone. 

_Seventy-five missed calls._

Stephanie fumbles as she flips it open and presses call on her last number. 

"Stephanie? Stephanie, where are you? I've been searching all night, I couldn't find you are you -- Stephanie?" John's voice is tight and frantic and maybe a little more than she can put up with right now but she appreciates the concern. She can't imagine what must have been going through his mind all night. 

"Yeah, it's me. Me and the Red Hood had a little personal one-on-one time but she let me go, whatever that means." 

"Well, thank God for that -- wait, what? She?" 

Stephanie can't help but laugh a little at the incredulity in John's tone. "Yeah, she. Meet me at the park in the Narrows with waffles from Tony's in an hour and I'll tell you all about it. And don't you dare skimp on the syrup, Blake." 

"Yeah, syrup, got it. You okay, Steph?" 

Stephanie works at a tight muscle in her neck, rolling it beneath her fingers. She's going to need a hot bath, a nap and a complete makeover for her home security system before she's anywhere close to being okay, but. "Yeah, John. I'm fine." 

\--- 

The thing about the Red Hood is that it should have changed everything. 

But it didn't. True to her word, the Red Hood left Gotham. Either that or she's lying low. One way or the other, bodies aren't dropping anymore -- at least not because of her, so it's not Stephanie's problem just yet. 

She walks into work the next week and she expects to feel different. She does, a little, in that now more than ever, she feels part of something greater than herself. Whatever else, she's gotten on the radar of something a whole lot messier than Gotham's usual beasts. Her life as she knows it is, whether she likes it or not, probably about to become a whole lot weirder. 

"Hey, cheapskate! What kind of cop leaves ten bucks for a night out? That didn't buy me nearly enough tequila shots," Renee calls out from her place by the water cooler and Stephanie shakes her head a little. Same old, same old. 

"You make friends in my absence?" 

Renee smiles, a slow, curling sort of thing that lets Stephanie know that yeah, Renee _definitely_ made friends. "You could say that. Hey, you should get your ass to homicide, there's a perp in custody who says she'll only speak to you." 

Stephanie pauses in her tracks. No, she wouldn't. 

"You catch a name?" 

"Yeah, uh. She says her name is Cassandra Cain." 

(The beginning).


End file.
